‘Yeah, well …’
‘So who have we got on the revised real-conspirator list?’
I ticked them off. ‘Definites — at least, definite as far as I’m concerned: Cerialis himself; Valerius Asiaticus; Annius Vinicianus; Arrecinus Clemens. Plus Lucius Papinius, because the bets are that when the time comes, as one of the emperor’s guard, he’d be the actual assassin — him and enough of his like-minded and seriously armed mates to do the job properly. As Praetorian commander, Clemens could arrange that because he’d be able to fix the duty rosters. Distinct possibles: Cassius Chaerea — another candidate for the sharp end — and the freedman-secretary guy, Julius Callistus. Oh, sure, there’ll be others, there must be, but they’ll do for a start.’
‘What about the emperor’s replacement? You still believe it would be Marcus Vinicius?’
Yeah, I’d been thinking a lot about that. I rubbed my chin.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Vinicius is still the best bet. Not that I think he’s directly involved, mind; I’m with you on that. But his nephew definitely is, and like I say, with Gaius safely dead and Vinicius himself with his arm halfway up his back, he could get the appointment through the senate easy. Even so, after last night I’d take out a small side bet on Tiberius Claudius.’
‘What?’
I grinned. ‘Yeah, I know. But like you said, he’s no fool in himself. Far from it. And he’s the last surviving male Julio-Claudian. If Vinicius were to refuse, which he might well do because he obviously has a lot of time for him personally, Claudius would be in with at least a chance. Besides, he’d have Asiaticus fighting his corner.’
‘Messalina would be pleased.’
‘Over the moon, lady. She’d give her eye-teeth to play Livia to Claudius’s Augustus. Even so, I reckon she’d have her work cut out. I take it back; that guy is no puppet material, he has a mind of his own. It’s just that so far he hasn’t been given the chance to use it.’
‘Marcus, you don’t think …’ She stopped again, and shook her head. ‘No, of course not. It’s silly. He wouldn’t.’
‘Wouldn’t what?’
‘Get himself involved with the conspiracy. Consciously and actively, I mean.’
‘It’s possible. I can’t say. How well do you know him yourself?’
‘Hardly at all, really. Certainly nowhere near as well as I know Vinicius.’
‘There you are, then. We’ll just have to mark it down as …’ I looked round. ‘Yeah, Bathyllus, what is it?’
The little guy had tooled in on my blind side.
‘A visitor, sir,’ he said. ‘A freedman by the name of Leonidas. He says that you know him.’
I frowned; who the hell was Leonidas? Then I remembered, and sat up sharply.
Naevius Surdinus’s estate manager.
Oh, gods. Please, please; just this once!
‘Wheel him in, Bathyllus,’ I said. ‘Spit-spot.’
‘Yes, sir.’ He went out, leaving Perilla and me looking at each other in what your Alexandrian bodice-ripper would term ‘wild surmise’. It might be; we’d just have to keep our fingers crossed …
Bathyllus came in with the little Sicilian in tow. Leonidas was beaming from ear to ear.
‘I thought that you’d like to know, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ve managed to trace our freedman friend. The one with the birthmark?’
Joy in the morning! ‘Yeah, yeah, right,’ I said.
‘I put it out that I was looking for him as soon as you left, but to tell you the truth I’d given up hope. The news only came this morning. His name’s Valerius Sosibius and he has a-’
‘Valerius Sosibius? You’re sure?’
‘Yes, sir. Quite a coincidence, isn’t it? I knew he couldn’t be one of yours because … well, still, there you are.’
Shit! If this Sosibius was a freedman of Asiaticus’s — and he’d have to be, with that name — then we’d got the bastard cold. And if we’d got Asiaticus then we’d got the lot of them, because if I could lay physical hands on Surdinus’s actual killer then I’d have something concrete to take to Gaius after all. Once he was in the bag and talking — which he would do, trust Felix for that — the rest would follow …
Score one for the freedman-cum-slave grapevine. Thank you, Jupiter! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
I punched the air. ‘Yesss!’
Leonidas was looking a bit bemused. So, for that matter, was Perilla.
‘Marcus, dear,’ she murmured.
Oh, yeah, right; pas devant les domestiques, or whatever the hell the correct Greek was. Let’s have a little Roman gravitas here. I lowered my arm quickly and cleared my throat. ‘I’m sorry, pal,’ I said. ‘Forgot myself for a moment. Carry on. You were saying?’
‘He has a shop in the Subura, sir. On Safety Incline. He’s a bookseller and copyist.’
‘He is a what?’
‘A bookseller and copyist, sir. He copies and sells books.’
‘Yeah, I got that bit.’ Gods! A homicidal bookseller! Now there was a first for you! At least he hadn’t beaten Surdinus to death with a first edition of Cato’s Farming is Fun. ‘Now you’re absolutely one hundred per cent cast-iron sure about all this, are you?’
‘Oh, yes, sir. My informant was a slave in Rubellius Rufus’s household. The old gentleman often uses Sosibius’s services, and Caeso — that’s the slave, sir — is in and out of the shop regularly. There’s no mistake, certainly about the birthmark. At least I hope there isn’t.’
‘Fantastic.’ I took out my purse and emptied out the contents — five gold pieces and a dozen bits of silver — into his waiting palms. ‘Pass half that on to Caeso, will you?’
‘Of course, sir. I don’t know him personally — the news came to me at third or fourth hand — but I’ll see he gets it.’ He was beaming again. ‘Even so, like I told you: myself, I’d’ve done it for nothing. Naevius Surdinus was a good master.’
‘You’re welcome, pal,’ I said. ‘You deserve it, both of you. Oh, one more thing. The big guy who saw the freedman originally. What was his name again?’
‘Cilix, sir.’
‘Right. Cilix. I’ll need him with me to make a formal identifi-cation. You think you can get him to come over here tomorrow morning? Say the third hour?’
‘Of course. I’m sure that won’t be a problem.’
‘Fine. And thanks again, Leonidas.’
He left.
‘Well, lady,’ I said when he’d gone, ‘it looks like we’re home and dry after all. I’ll go over to the Subura tomorrow with Cilix, check this guy out. If he’s the one we want, I reckon I can go straight to Gaius. That sound fair?’
‘I suppose so, dear. But I’d rather you left things alone.’
‘Yeah, well, we can’t always have our druthers, can we?
‘As long as you’re careful.’
‘I’ll be walking on eggs, I promise you.’ I would, too.
We might be inside Alexander’s deadline after all.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Cilix turned up the next morning bang on time. Not that I would’ve recognized the guy, because they’d hosed him down, given him a new tunic, a shave and haircut, and a final wax and polish before sending him over, with the result that he was a gleaming picture of pristine cleanliness and sartorial elegance.
Raring to go, too. He stood there — loomed, rather — at the foot of our steps, grinning like a six-foot-six yard-across-the-shoulders schoolboy being taken out for a birthday treat. Which I supposed wasn’t all that far from the reality: as far as domestics go, which isn’t all that far to begin with, garden slaves are at the bottom of the pecking order and their social life is zilch. The fact that they spend a large slice of their time interacting with manure in one way or another doesn’t help matters, either.
‘You ready for this, Cilix?’ I said.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘OK. Modus operandi.’ He blinked. ‘Uh … the way we’re going to do things, right?’
‘Oh. Yeah. Got you, sir.’
‘The guy — Sosibius — doesn’t know me. Or at least I’m hoping he doesn’t. And he didn’t see you either, right?’